They say where there is a will there is a way
But you tell me there’s no will inside you yet promise you know the way
As we walk over puddles through marshes and under the trees I begin to realize
You lied to me
This is no path we’ve taken but the road to our end and that is where we find ourselves tired and broken ceasing to go on brittle and beaten
Like a worn sickly dog
forward is a must to which I lack the will